


Ganache

by Filigree



Series: Food Fantasies [1]
Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Food Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigree/pseuds/Filigree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Klaus have dessert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ganache

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [日本語訳：Ganache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/712530) by [BasilLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilLeaves/pseuds/BasilLeaves)



Klaus had enough presence of mind to make certain no one followed them from the small, intimate club to Dorian's flat. Beyond the faintly-glowing readouts from the Benz dashboard, night-time London sped past. Neon signs reflected in rain-wet streets. A fog brewed down by the Thames, and rose toward low clouds.

Dorian didn't speak, a comfortable silence that Klaus cherished. No gloating, no innuendo, no arch observations that still startled and offended the Major – even though he knew they were accurate. Dinner had been vegetables, braised meat, something savoury made out of rice. But that might have been last night's dinner at the Schloss, or last week's. Klaus didn't normally pay much attention to food, beyond the basics necessary for health. And his mind hadn't been focused on dinner, all evening.

His mouth currently tasted of an after-dinner mint, palmed off the credit-card tray when he picked up the bill. Klaus had been self-conscious that the taste of the meat -- salmon? chicken? lamb? -- would flavour his mouth too strongly. Ever since his reluctant capitulation to the thief's attentions, the Major had found himself worrying about such minutiae. It was silly. Dorian had no such inhibitions, and bore Klaus' with aggravating patience.

Once the steel doors closed on the underground carpark, and the two men were alone inside the elevator, Klaus said quietly: "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For -- taking this slowly. Knowing how -- difficult this is for me. You are very considerate of my flaws."

Dorian leaned against him. "Not flaws. They're all part of you, of what makes you unique." Warm lips sought out Klaus' throat, nuzzled there. "And exciting."

"You find my ignorance exciting?"

"Hmmm, yes. _Tabula rasa_, my darling Major. You're a blank slate. No telling what we may write on it, eventually. So I don't mind starting out with simple sentences. 'I love you', for one. 'I love everything we do', for another. Maybe even just letters. Vowels --" One careful fingertip slid down Klaus' erection, the pressure dulled only slightly by the intermediate layers of cloth.

"Ohhhh – " the Major whispered, his hips rocking forward to prolong the sensation.

"That's one," said Dorian amiably.

"One what?"

"A vowel." The elevator chimed, opened on a blandly-appointed hallway with only four doors on this level. "Shall we go see if you  
know the rest of them?"

 

But once in the flat, and past the first round of feverish kisses, Dorian pulled away from Klaus. "I want dessert," whispered  
the Earl.

"I asked you at the club, if you wanted any --" The mischief crinkling the corners of Dorian's eyes warned  
Klaus not to continue, as Dorian caught his hand and steered him toward the kitchen. "Oh."

Dorian pointed him at a barstool. "Sit." Klaus sat, fidgeting in spite of himself. The Earl puttered for a moment with water and a small double-boiler, then put them aside in favor of a stoneware bowl. He reached for something in a pantry shelf. "Do you favour milk chocolate or dark? Bonham got some decent Belgian stuff last week."

"I don't like --"

Dorian cut a two-centimeter sliver of each, held them out in his hands. There was nothing but compassion in the clear blue eyes. "How do you know, if you don't at least try them?"

Nervously aware of the real subtext of question and consent, Klaus leaned forward, touched his tongue against Dorian's right hand. Milk chocolate melted instantly in the heat from two bodies, laving his mouth with its subtle flavour. It was good in such tiny amounts, but a little too bland. Still, it took him a minute or two to lick and suck all of it from Dorian's palm. They were both breathing faster, when Klaus turned his attention to the left hand.

Dark chocolate. Richly bittersweet. The odor of it far more complex than should be, for such a tiny amount. He caught that slim strong hand with his own larger fingers. Kept it captive, long after the chocolate was gone and all he tasted was the musk of Dorian's skin.

"The dark," Klaus murmured finally. "I like it."

"Well," whispered Dorian, soft-eyed. "You certainly aren't awkward about _that_."

"Give me time," Klaus whispered back.

"As much as you want." Dorian stood up -- a little shakily, Klaus noted with some satisfaction -- and returned to shaving dark chocolate into the bowl. Then the bowl went into a nearby microwave.

"Is that wise?" Klaus asked.

Dorian flipped his curls back, a saucy instinctive gesture Klaus had long ago deciphered as _Aren't-I-Clever?_ "Bonham showed me  
how. Quite a time-saver, as long as --" Dorian stopped the microwave and brought the bowl to the kitchen counter. "-- As long  
as one's careful not to burn it, that is."

Klaus leaned over the bowl. The scent that rose from the melted chocolate had to be a sin, all by itself. Damn Dorian and his perverted subtleties! Kissing chocolate from Dorian's hands had been one thing, exciting and safe. But he wasn't ready for much else, from this sybarite.

He forced himself to look at the glossy red-brown stuff in the bowl, knowing that was part of the thief's latest lesson, as well. "Hardly enough there for dessert."

"There's more. I'm making _ganache_," said Dorian airily as he pulled a glass crock from the icebox. Another few milliliters of what looked like heavy cream went into yet another bowl, to warmed by judicious pulses of the microwave. "They should be the same temperature," Dorian explained, as if Klaus had any intention of remembering the procedure. "Just about blood-warm."

He mixed chocolate and cream with a whisk. Then tormented the Major by licking the mixture off the wires, much too slowly. Over a tiny bowl filled with lighter-brown goo, Dorian grinned back at Klaus.

Chocolate smeared the thief's upper lip.

"You're despicable," Klaus growled.

"And you're not a coward."

That was true. Klaus leaned forward and kissed the chocolate away from Dorian's lips. "You're _training_ me, damn you."

Dorian returned the bowl and whisk to the counter. "Only as far as you want to go, love. Honestly, have I pushed you into anything you weren't ready for, in the last six months?"

"No." Klaus was miserably aware that Dorian hadn't.

Once the Major had initiated their first bilaterally-willing kiss, after a certain mission-from-hell, Dorian had been the epitome of consideration. Kissing Dorian was always wonderful. Klaus hadn't been able to think of anything better. Until Dorian had introduced him to the joys of friction between clothed bodies; then to the same activity between sweat-sheened skin. The Major had learned about _hands_, and how a simple act became sorcery when someone else lovingly did it to him. And how Dorian responded, when Klaus returned the attention.

Each discovery shook the core of Klaus' resolve -- that there were degrees to iniquity, and personal barriers he did not yet dare cross. Dorian promised him delight along the way, and even more precious -- understanding.

"I know we agreed not to talk about _why_," the golden-haired man whispered, as Klaus' arms stiffened around him. "You've been hurt."

"-- And you get off playing nursemaid? Or shrink?" Klaus asked harshly.

"-- And I don't want to make it worse, darling. There's no timetable to this. There are a hundred ways to make love. You never have to worry."

"About penetration?" The clinical coldness in his own voice startled Klaus. "Isn't that what we queers are known for?"

Dorian bit him, not so gently, on the collarbone.

"Ow!"

"Serves you right, Major. Listen," the lovely thief reached up, dragged Klaus' face down for a quick kiss. "I have heard of men who spent their whole lives together, and never did that. Never felt the need. Some men just -- can't enjoy it, for whatever reason."

"But you do."

Those lakewater eyes smiled back at him, shamelessly. "Oh, yes. Taking, and giving. But darling, do you have any idea of what I most enjoy? _You._ Doing anything you want. It's wonderful to see you happy, and relaxed, and trusting. Even cuddling with you is a marvel."

Klaus had to accept that. He hadn't come here on vacation to quarrel, after all. He took Dorian's mouth again, in a faintly chocolate-scented kiss. "Are we done with dessert?" he asked finally, wanting Dorian naked and writing against him, as soon as possible.

"Just starting, Major." Still pressed against Klaus, Dorian half-turned and opened a cabinet under the counter.

Klaus eyed the thing in his lover's hands. "A paintbrush? Oh, now, wait a minute!"

Bowl and paintbrush in one long-fingered hand, Dorian grabbed Klaus' wrist with the other, and aimed for the bedroom.

"Food stays in the kitchen! Weren't you taught better than that?" the Major blustered, half-panicked at the curiosity stirring his blood.

"You eat at the office, yes? I've eaten _you_ at your office."

Dorian had. Just the memory of it – silent, straining toward release in that hot, expert, _loving_ mouth! – made Klaus groan and follow tamely.


End file.
